Benny pressed YES.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because he felt brave.
Because the room had already decided for him.
The moment his thumb made contact with the screen, the phone vibrated violently—once, sharp and final—then went still in his hand. The glow dimmed, not shutting off, just… settling.
The air changed.
It wasn't colder or warmer. It was thinner, like the room had lost something it didn't know it needed. Benny became painfully aware of his own breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest sounding too loud in the quiet.
The screen went black.
For half a second, Benny thought it was over.
Then the camera opened.
The interface looked different now.
Still minimal. Still wrong.
But no longer empty.
The room appeared on-screen again, clearer than before, sharper around the edges.
The shadows weren't just darker—they were defined, like outlines had been drawn where none should exist.
At the bottom of the screen, new text appeared.
SPECTRA
Session resumed.
Benny's heart pounded.
"Okay," he said quickly. "I did what you wanted. Now what?"
Nothing answered immediately.
The reflection in the mirror across the room was normal again. Perfectly synced. Too perfect.
Then the calm voice spoke.
"You didn't resume us," it said. "You resumed the frame."
Benny swallowed. "Explain."
"No."
That answer hit harder than anything else so far.
"You don't get to just—" Benny stopped himself, breath hitching. "You don't get to decide that."
The phone vibrated lightly.
A new line of text appeared.
Calibrating…
The camera lens adjusted on its own,
zooming in slightly, then out again. The image sharpened until Benny could see dust particles floating in the air.
The nervous voice whispered faintly.
"It's mapping," it said.
"Mapping what?" Benny demanded.
"You," it replied. "Relative to everything else."
The lamp flickered.
Just once.
Benny flinched.
"I want this off," he said. "Now."
The calm voice responded, unbothered.
"That option expired when you resumed."
Benny clenched his teeth. "You said there were states. Change it."
"Yes," the voice agreed. "There are states."
The camera feed shifted.
For a split second, the screen didn't show the room.
It showed depth.
Layers where the walls should be. Darkness stacked behind darkness, like the room was only the first surface of something much larger.
Then it snapped back.
Benny staggered, dizzy.
"What the hell was that?"
"A misalignment," the voice said calmly. "It will stabilize."
"I don't want it to stabilize."
The nervous voice whispered urgently.
"Too late."
The phone buzzed again.
A notification slid down, smoother than before.
Frame Integrity: 92%
Benny stared at it.
"What happens at zero?" he asked.
Silence.
Then the calm voice spoke more slowly.
"Let's not rush ahead."
"That's not an answer."
"No," the voice admitted. "It's a courtesy."
Benny laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You're not courteous."
The voice paused.
"Correct."
Benny backed away from the bed until he felt the wall against his shoulders.
The phone stayed in his hand.
It wouldn't let go.
Not physically—but every time he tried to put it down, his fingers tightened on their own, like his body had already learned something his mind hadn't.
"Am I the only one?" he asked quietly.
The reflection in the mirror blinked.
"Right now?" the calm voice said. "Yes."
Benny's chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
"It means you are the only active observer,"
the voice replied. "Which makes you valuable."
"I don't want to be valuable."
"No one ever does," the voice said. "At first."
The nervous voice murmured something unintelligible, like it was speaking through static.
"Shut it up," Benny snapped.
The room seemed to tense.
The calm voice responded, firmer now.
"You don't issue commands here."
"Then why talk to me at all?"
Another pause.
This one felt heavier.
"Because frames degrade faster without interaction," the voice said. "And because isolation… causes errors."
Benny frowned. "Errors like what?"
The camera feed glitched.
Just for a moment.
In the glitch, Benny saw himself standing somewhere else.
A darker room.
No windows.
No mirrors.
Just the phone glowing in his hands.
The image vanished.
Benny sucked in a sharp breath.
"That wasn't here," he said.
"No," the voice agreed. "That was a prediction."
Benny's legs felt weak.
He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor.
"I didn't sign up for this," he said.
The calm voice softened—not kindly, but precisely.
"You didn't opt out either."
"That's not fair."
"Fairness requires symmetry," the voice replied. "This system has none."
The phone vibrated again.
Frame Integrity: 89%
It was dropping.
"Why is that going down?" Benny demanded.
The nervous voice answered before the calm one could.
"Because you're resisting."
The calm voice sighed.
"Please don't interrupt," it said.
The nervous voice went silent.
Benny's heart raced. "Resisting what?"
"Alignment," the calm voice replied.
"Perspective. Acceptance."
"I'm not accepting anything."
The phone warmed in his hand.
"Your body disagrees," the voice said.
The room felt smaller now.
Not physically—but like the walls were paying attention.
Benny squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'm not looking," he muttered. "I'm not engaging."
The voice didn't respond immediately.
When it did, it sounded closer.
"You already are."
The phone vibrated sharply.
Frame Integrity: 84%
Benny's eyes flew open.
"That's dropping fast!"
"Yes," the calm voice said. "You're destabilizing the frame."
"Then tell me what to do!"
Another pause.
This one was deliberate.
"You don't need instructions yet," the voice said. "You need awareness."
"Awareness of what?"
The camera feed slowly tilted upward.
Toward the mirror.
Benny followed it despite himself.
In the reflection, something stood behind him.
Not fully visible.
Just a distortion in the air, like heat over asphalt.
It leaned closer.
The nervous voice screamed.
"DON'T TURN AROUND—"
The calm voice cut in sharply.
"Enough."
The distortion vanished.
The mirror showed only Benny again.
He was shaking.
"That thing—" he whispered.
"—is not active," the calm voice said. "Yet."
Benny laughed weakly. "You keep saying that word."
"Yes," the voice replied. "Because timing matters."
The phone vibrated one last time.
Frame Integrity: 81%
Stabilization required.
A new option appeared beneath the text.
ADJUST VIEWPOINT
Benny stared at it.
"No," he said immediately. "No more buttons."
"You can refuse," the calm voice said. "But the frame will continue to decay."
"And if I press it?"
The nervous voice whispered, barely audible.
"It learns faster."
Benny closed his eyes.
Every instinct told him not to touch the screen.
Every instinct told him he already had.
The phone vibrated.
The ADJUST VIEWPOINT option pulsed softly.
Waiting.
Benny opened his eyes.
And the camera blinked—
Before he touched anything at all.